


Mikey Way the Vampire Slayer

by inabathrobe



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire Slayer, Buffy the Vampire Slayer References, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-03-02
Updated: 2012-03-02
Packaged: 2017-12-14 19:22:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/840471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inabathrobe/pseuds/inabathrobe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Way brothers are just your ordinary vampire-slaying duo. It's too bad that the universe hasn't gotten the message yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mikey Way the Vampire Slayer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theficisalie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theficisalie/gifts).



> [Originally published in March 2012.](http://inabathrobe.livejournal.com/103024.html#cutid1) Probably a permanent WiP, although this could stand on its own.

Beside the door, there was a bin that, in any other household, would have held a pile of winter weather gear, forgotten months before and left there to rot until November. In the Way household, this bin normally held: a bulletproof vest, a loaded gun (silver bullets), a bell, a book (pocket Bible), a candle, three heads of garlic (fresh), a small garden stake (sharp), a set of heavy Kevlar body armor to make Batman proud, a kitchen knife in a plastic sheathe, and a jock strap (worn).

Most nights, all of these things disappeared out of the house, taking Mikey with them. He didn't make out with the cute clerk from the comic book store on nights when Mikey was going to lurk around and make the Face From the Black Lagoon at him. No, he brought the cute clerk home on a Saturday night because Saturday nights were always busy. Vampires were all about Saturday fucking nights.

Which was probably why there was banging, thudding, clattering, and shouting coming from the stairway. Mikey had brought work home with him. Exactly what Gerard needed.

The cute cashier sort of scooted away from Gerard and said, "Dude, what the fuck is going on out there?"

Gerard considered a wide variety of answers, but settled on the simple, "I have weird neighbors."

Then, Mikey's voice was heard to say very loudly and clearly: "No, let me open the door, so Gerard doesn't shoot you on sight."

The cute cashier looked seriously unconvinced that the marauding freak show was not for him. Well. Fair enough. There was a murmur out in the hallway and then Mikey shouted at what must have been the top of his lungs, "No, for fuck's sake, it has enchantments on it!"

The cute cashier looked seriously, seriously confused. Not as confused, however, as when the key scraped in the lock and Gerard said, "Stay down," and pulled out the gun under the sofa cushion, training it on the door.

"Um."

"Stay. Down."

And then the door opened and Mikey was half slumped on a tall pasty fucker with dyed black hair and the perpetual slump of the undead and he was bleeding and clutching at his left upper arm, Mikey was _fucking bleeding_ and, no, no, vampires did not bring Mikey home at night injured and bleeding. This was fucked, this was utterly fucked, and—

This was when the vampire said, "He's been shot."

And Mikey shouted, "Because you _shot me_ , you fucker!"

And the vampire said, "Just a little!"

And Gerard moved his gun from pointing at the vampire's leg to his heart.

And Mikey raised an eyebrow because Gerard was being a touch melodramatic and, really, would Mikey bring work home? He was better than that, Gerard. Why didn't he have more faith? Gerard gave him the patented "you brought a vampire into my home on the day of my daughter's wedding" face. Mikey said, "You need to invite him in."

"Like fuck I do!" Gerard snapped, brandishing his gun in a way that was more showy than effective.

"He is bleeding, you know," the vampire said with extraordinary smarm, all things considered.

"Also, the enchantments," Mikey added.

"You seriously have enchantments?" the vampire asked incredulously.

"I'm a fucking vampire slayer! What the fuck do you fucking expect, you fucking lunatic?" Mikey roared. Evidently, bullet wounds, even grazes, made Mikey Way a cranky boy.

"You can come in," Gerard said grudgingly, "and the enchantments won't go off."

"Seriously, guy? Because I don't feel like dying today," the vampire said.

"You're already dead," Gerard snapped.

"Again, then!"

"Whatever. They're not going to go off if you have Mikey with you." Or if you used a key, but Gerard wasn't going to tell the vampire that. They limped over the threshold like a three-legged monster, and Gerard vaulted over the back of the couch to get a chair for Mikey to collapse into and then the first aid kit from the bathroom. When he came back into the front room, Mikey was still sitting in the chair, but his sleeve was rolled up and the vampire was dabbing at the long messy cut across Mikey's upper arm with a wet paper towel and Mikey was whining. Gerard felt oddly upstaged.

Then, his date, peering over the back of the couch, said, "Uh. Should I go?", and Gerard started to tell him that, yeah, this was probably not a great time, but it came out as: "My brother just got shot. What do you fucking think?"

"I'm sorry, okay? It's not like _I_ shot him."

(In the background, Gerard could hear Mikey saying, "No, that was _you_ ," to the vampire.)

"Look, I don't have the time to argue with you, Fernando. Maybe, we can get coffee next week."

"Dude," his date said, heading for the door, "my name is Frank," and he shut it behind him. Gerard stared after him, feeling oddly more like a total fuckwad than he'd expected.

"You just fucked that up," the vampire said, and Mikey's expression said it, too, and then they looked at each other in a way that could only be interpreted as, "Jesus, some people."

It was just not Gerard's night.

When Gerard got up, Mikey was already sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a cup of coffee and reading one of the previous week's batch of comic books. He looked up when Gerard came in.

"Did I dream—"

Mikey pointed at the bandage over his left arm.

"Shit."

Mikey nodded. Gerard poured himself a cup of coffee and, sipping it, toured himself through the cupboards. He found the poptarts in the one next to the fridge, grabbed a pack, and bit into one. Mikey chose that moment to say, "I can't believe you screwed me over on the comic book store guy."

Gerard coughed, choking for a moment on his mouthful of poptart. "Uh."

Mikey waited for him.

"He just wasn't that into you, okay?" Gerard said defensively, cupping his mug. "I offered him a choice between the two of us."

"And?" Mikey sounded unimpressed by Gerard's generosity.

"He asked if you were the sort of femme-y looking one poking through the X-Men titles." Gerard did his best to sound honest and unamused. He thought he succeeded. Mostly.

Mikey huffed into his coffee.

"Well, you were! Er. Looking at the X-Men comics. Um. I'm sorry?"

Mikey sighed.

"Look, I get it. I'm a total fuck-up. Loud and clear." He flopped down, letting his head rest on the table.

Mikey put the hand of his good arm on Gerard's shoulder and patted it, returning to focusing on his comic book. Gerard sighed and sipped his coffee. They sat like that for some time until Gerard turned his head toward Mikey and, half muffled by talking into the table, said, "I'm sorry I can't keep you safe all the time and strange vampires have to bring you home fucked up and bleeding."

"Guilt tripper," Mikey said lightly and turned the page.

Gerard finished the last of his coffee with a sad gulp and turned his head toward Mikey, giving him a look of deep and profound moroseness. Mikey sighed. "More coffee?" Gerard nodded without lifting his head from the table. "Idiot." He slouched over to the coffee pot and set it to make another six cups, leaning against the counter. He stretched, his raggedy shirt (pajamas in the Way household were more of a theoretical activity) running up to expose his midriff.

Including three large, neatly written numbers just above his hipbone.

"Mikey."

Mikey looked down and saw what Gerard was seeing. "Shit."

"What the fuck is that?"

Mikey shrugged.

"Mikey. What the fuck is _that_?" At this point, Gerard had sat up and was squinting very determinedly across the kitchen at him. Mikey muttered something under his breath. "What was that, young Master Way?"

"It's his number," Mikey said, focusing very hard on pouring the freshly made coffee from the coffee pot. "The plot of his crypt."

"Great," Gerard said, making grabby hands at the mug of coffee. He sipped it with pointed desperation. "We'll go stake him after lunch."

"No."

"Hey, hands," and Gerard pointed at Mikey. "Brains," and pointed to himself.

Mikey went back to his comic book. "Hands say no."

"Hands can't talk," Gerard said triumphantly.

"Neither can brains."

Gerard made a face. "He shot you!"

Mikey shrugged. "So I'll shoot at him a little."

"Mikey," Gerard said, "you have to kill him. He's a vampire. You're a vampire slayer. This is, like, Buffy 101."

Mikey looked at him mildly.

"Oh, my god, if you go all season six on my ass, I will throw you out of my fucking apartment." Gerard stared into his coffee mug in mute horror. "Shit." He finished his cup and got up and drank another before returning to the table.

Mikey closed his comic book and turned to him. "It's just a number, Gee."

Gerard stared mournfully at his little brother and tried not to feel too betrayed. "Asshole didn't have to use fucking Sharpie."

"Yeah, I'll give him a good thumping for that," Mikey said and stole a sip from Gerard's mug of coffee. "Wanna watch cartoons?"

* * *

Technically, Sunday night was stay-in night, his only official night off all week. Typical Sunday nights included Gerard telling Mikey to go out with whatever girl had slipped him her number that week, Mikey telling Gerard to just go out without him (and go fuck himself), Gerard telling Mikey that just this once they could stay in and watch some dumb monster movie, and Mikey telling Gerard that that was what they did every Sunday night.

Because that _was_ what they did every Sunday night.

When it was nearly six, Gerard put on his we-should-go-out face and said, "Hey, Mikey," to which Mikey replied, "I have to work tonight."

Gerard tilted his head. "Lots of people looking for a pumpkin spice latte on Sunday evenings?" Mikey shook his head. He watched Gerard process this, realize Mikey was dressed for slaying, and make a face. "Mikes, it's your night off. Seriously, you have to learn to relax."

Mikey shrugged.

"You fucked up your arm!" Gerard said, throwing up his hands. "You shouldn't be going out at all." Mikey said nothing, crossing the room to the bin under the coat rack and pulling on his bulletproof vest. Gerard said flatly, "This is because of that vampire, isn't it."

Mikey looked across the room at him, face even and blank.

"Don't think I can't read you, you fucker," Gerard snapped and, then, changing tack, added, "Mikes, it's dangerous. _He_ is dangerous. I don't care what kind of stupid bullshit connection that his nearly killing you has forged between the two of you, but— _Don't you dare put that jockstrap on, mister. I will end you._ " Gerard clawed at the air in a suitably dramatic fashion, and Mikey had the decency to look ashamed.

"I just want to keep things in tact. Jesus."

Gerard sighed dramatically. "Just be careful."

"Ironic coming from the man who sends me out to kill the forces of darkness most nights," Mikey said lightly, adjusting his utility belt to fit snugly over his hips.

"It's my job, asshole," Gerard said. "Both nearly getting you killed and worrying about you like fuck." Mikey slid his gun into its holster and did not reply. "Did you check that it's loaded?"

Mikey picked up a string of garlic cloves. "I didn't use any bullets last night."

"Check anyway," Gerard said firmly. Mikey rolled his eyes. "I am the big brother of you, Mikey Way, and you will be fully equipped before I send you out on a play date with death." Mikey checked his gun and replaced it in its holster. "No Kevlar?"

Mikey shook his head, but Gerard watched Mikey's fingers move to the place on his chest where the crucifix lay under his bulletproof vest and a layer of cotton. 

"You sure about this?"

"We need to know."

Gerard nodded. "Be safe."

Mikey smirked. "Always."

Gerard crossed the room and hugged Mikey, holding on a little too long. Mikey squirmed in his arms, but rubbed Gerard's back reassuringly. "You absolute fucker," Gerard murmured into the general area of Mikey's shoulder.

"Gee."

Gerard pulled away and folded his arms across his chest. Mikey watched him withdraw into himself. (His fault.) Mikey patted his shoulder and pulled away, crossing to the back door and unlocking, unbolting, and unchaining it before walking out and shutting the door behind him. He waited on the shoddy wooden landing until he heard Gerard lock the door behind him and slide the deadbolt into place and put the chain across the door. In the rising evening wind, Mikey shivered and jogged down the fire escape stairs.

* * *

Gerard was home alone on a Sunday night. Sunday nights were Mikey nights, the one night a week when he didn't have to go run off to risk his life for Gerard's cowardly ideals. So, for some reason, Mikey had run off to risk his life anyway. Asshole. He sat on the couch in silent contemplation of the blank television screen. He could watch the movie without Mikey.

He sighed. No. He had unfinished business. He left a scribbled note for Mikey on the kitchen table and grabbed his wallet, keys, and cell phone on his way out of the house. If he walked quickly, he should get to the comic book store before it closed for the night.

* * *

Mikey headed back to Graceland Cemetery where he had had the previous night's run-in with the vampire. It was a short walk, only ten or fifteen minutes from the apartment, and then he strolled nonchalantly into the grounds, pretending that the place wasn't technically closed to the public at that hour. He wasn't the public; he was a graveyard defense professional.

That's what it said on his business card, anyway.

He secured the perimeter first; Graceland was prime creatures-of-the-night territory, and Mikey didn't want any interlopers. The place was deserted, though, which was more than a little strange. Mikey patrolled it regularly because it was overwhelmingly popular with the local vampires and other assorted evening evils. Mikey blamed it partially on the name, which was more evocative of Anne Rice's New Orleans than the Ways' Chicago, and the neighborhood, which didn't close by ten at night like so much of the rest of the city. Besides, Lakeview was popular with the sort of younger crowd that might not be missed if they disappeared. Gerard and Mikey had both spent a lot of time justifying moving somewhere so hip, trendy, and comparatively expensive, but if the vampires could do it, so could they. Vampires, of course, did not usually pay rent, as Gerard was quick to grumble during their first few months of relative comic deprivation in service of paying for the new apartment.

The graveyard hadn't been half so silent on his last routine check a week ago, but it had been a little quieter than usual, maybe. He wrinkled his nose, knowing that changes in vampire behavior like this could only spell Serious Evil, Mr. Way, Yes, That Means You. You needed something really nasty to get vampires to vacate; they tended to nest.

Convinced that if he was in danger, he was completely fucked anyway, he headed for the plot, occasionally pulling out a flashlight to read the free map he'd taken from the boxes on the gates. (He didn't usually need to find a particular address, so he had no idea where he was going.) When he found it, or what he had thought was it, it turned out to be a grave with just a headstone on it. He pulled out the map and flashlight again and double-checked it against the number he knew was still lingering in permanent marker on his skin. Definitely the right plot. He tensed, suddenly wary, realizing that it must have been a trick.

Mikey heard him before he saw him, one hand instantly on his stake, turning in the direction of the footsteps on the soft grass, half blind from checking his map with a flashlight.

"Fuck!" He half-watched and half-heard the vampire cower. "Put that away. I'm not going to hurt you."

He stalled, waiting for his eyes to readjust to the darkness. "What's up with the phony phone number? Don't you like me?"

"I just moved, asshole, so I mixed the numbers up."

"Mmhm." Mikey did not put the stake down, and he could see the vampire starting to work out how he was going to escape. "I'm not going down into some crypt with you now."

"We can go somewhere neutral," the vampire offered, lowering his hands from where they were poised in the air.

"Hands up where I can see them," Mikey barked. "What were you thinking of?"

"The Starbucks at Clark and Belmont."

"Coffee?" Mikey said incredulously. "What the fuck is this, a date?"

The vampire shrugged. "We could be talking for a while. I figured that coffee might be better than beers for a meeting of this nature."

"And what nature's that?" Mikey said, eyes narrowing.

"Sensitive," the vampire snarled. "You going to kill me?"

"Not yet."

"Okay." The vampire straightened up, crossing toward Mikey who instinctively stepped back. He stopped about five feet from Mikey and stuck out his hand as if for a handshake, even though he was much too far away for that. "I'm Pete Wentz," he said and added as an afterthought, "Vampire."

Mikey did not move. "Mikey Way, friendly neighborhood slayer."

"Yeah, I remember. Now, I'm guessing I've got about a minute before you decline coffee and change your mind on the killing me front," Wentz said conversationally. Mikey shrugged. The vampire had more like three, but Mikey wasn't going to argue with efficiency if it would get him back to that night's sci-fi B movie. "Right, yeah, okay. So. I wasn't always like this. You know, a vampire."

Mikey raised an eyebrow.

"Look, I'm a hunter. —No, not 'was'," Wentz said, cutting off Mikey's interruption. "I still am. I had a bit of a falling out with my, um—"

"Your Gerard?" Mikey prompted.

Wentz nodded. "Creative differences."

Mikey said, "You get till we reach the gate to convince me."

"Thanks."

"Start walking," Mikey said, keeping the stake trained on Wentz's back as they began to walk back the way Mikey had come.

* * *

"We're closing in fifteen minutes!" shouted a voice from the back when Gerard opened the door to the comic book store. He let it slam shut behind him and skulked around, trying to find what he wanted. It wasn't a title he usually picked up, but he found it pretty quickly anyway. They were in there often enough that he knew the store's layout by heart and could find comics more easily there than in his own home. (It had the use of an actual organization system in its favor, though.) Even after he had flipped through a few weeks' worth of back issues to find one he wanted, the clerk still hadn't come out of the back. He rang the bell on the counter and waited.

"Sorry, sorry," the cute clerk said, jogging out of the store room. Then, he saw who it was. The cute clerk stopped in his tracks. Gerard offered a little wave. "You," the cute clerk spat.

"Me," Gerard said sheepishly.

The cute clerk logged back into the cash register and turned to check the price on the comic Gerard was buying. It was the latest issue of the Buffy spinoff. The cute clerk stared at the comic. Then, he stared at Gerard. Gerard offered him a slow, easy smile. "What the fuck?"

Gerard said, "I'm that one," pointing to Giles on the cover, "for reference."

The cute clerk stared at him. "I'm pretty sure you're not Anthony Stewart Head."

"Oh, no. I'm Giles," Gerard said. He paused, realized this did not sound any more sane, and added, "Not actually. Like, by analogy."

"Uh."

"Yeah, so Giles didn't really have a love interest, except in the first season and then she got killed off pretty quickly. Um." Gerard reviewed what he'd said. "Let's abandon the Buffy metaphor."

"Can you just buy the comic and leave?"

"Look, I fucked up. I'm sorry. I think you're really great and I was hoping you might give me a second chance."

The cute clerk folded his arms over his chest. "Yeah, sure. What's my name?"

Gerard stared at him. "Are you serious?"

"You don't remember it, do you?"

"Of course, I do! I can't believe you're still harping on that. Fuck." Gerard huffed.

"And?"

"What?"

"What's my name, Gerard?"

Gerard stared at him. It was there somewhere in the back of his mind, sandwiched between Mikey-just-got-shot and there's-a-vampire-in-my-home. "Fred?"

* * *

"—Then, he told me that stealth and deception were necessary to what we were doing, that we needed to try to keep a low profile, but fuck, that's easy for him. Everyone knew who the fuck I was and what I was doing there. Patrick couldn't fucking forget it. Some nights, I thought he'd just lock the goddamn cabinet they made me sleep in during the day and leave me there to think about what I'd done. So I left. Figured I could do what we did on my own, or—" Wentz shrugged. "—or not."

Mikey hunched his shoulders against the wind. "Hmm."

"Going to put that stake away now?" Wentz said, pretending not to keep an eye on it.

Mikey bristled against being told to do it. "Maybe."

"I'm unarmed," the vampire added.

"You're never unarmed," Mikey said. He almost regretted it when Wentz's face clouded over and he stared fixedly at the ground, drawing his shoulders together. He was substantially, impractically smaller than Mikey, definitively short. His fangs made him look absurd, rather than frightening, like a boy wearing a cheap Halloween costume. "Okay, fuck, let's do coffee." He put the stake away, careful to keep his eyes on Wentz.

Wentz, to his credit, kept his hands where Mikey could see them (and his fangs, too). "So. You gonna order coffee looking like that?"

* * *

"I can't believe you," not-Fred snapped as he watched Gerard straighten the inventory and return stray comics to where they belonged. "You are such a fucker."

"I'm sorry," Gerard whined for the seventh time. "Please tell me what your name is."

Not-Fred crossed his arms over his chest. "Yeah, whatever. You're going to have to do better than helping close the store."

"I'll buy you a drink."

"That sounds like a date," Not-Fred pointed out as he counted the till. Gerard had the decency to look guilty. It was so him trying to get a date. "Look, I go to Starbucks after work most nights, so if you buy me coffee, I'll tell you my name."

Gerard paused to shove the hair out of his face and check that not-Fred was serious. He was. "Sure."

"Then, get sweeping, Cinderella."

* * *

Mikey hunched his shoulders as he walked down the sidewalk, trying to look casual. There were at least two people walking maybe half a block behind them, lingering behind whenever he and Wentz paused for a streetlight. He caught Wentz's eye and jerked his head back.

Wentz muttered, "So you noticed it too?" Mikey nodded. "I think they followed us from the cemetery."

Mikey's eyes narrowed. "Friends of yours?"

"Probably fellow card-carrying members of the Fang Club, but other than that, definitely not."

Mikey raised an eyebrow.

"I do have," Wentz said, sounding guilty, "something of a fan following?"

"Walk fast," Mikey snapped. He was so not in the mood to get his slayer on with Wentz lurking around, ready to stab him in the back. (Although Mikey was more likely to do any stabbing in the back whereas Wentz would probably favor biting Mikey on the neck.) "You so owe me coffee after this."

* * *

Gerard set their coffees down at the table Not-Fred had picked, wedged into the corner by a display of Starbucks coffee beans. "I can't believe you're going to drink a latte at seven at night," he began to say, but Not-Fred cut him off: "You don't get to talk until I've drunk at least half of this."

Gerard mouthed, "I'm sorry," and gulped down some of his own hot chocolate, desperate to get the feeling back in his body after the bitter cold, as Not-Fred leisurely sipped his. Gerard waited in increasingly impatient silence, tapping his feet against the metal base of the table. He slid the sleeve off his drink. They'd double-cupped it as well. He scrunched up his nose. Who the fuck double-cupped a drink with a sleeve on it? So much for forty percent of the paper of a second cup. He broke the glue on the sleeve and started ripping it into little pieces on the tabletop.

Not-Fred set his cup down. "So. Gilesrard. Explain yourself."

"Um." Gerard considered. "Look, you can't tell anyone any of this, okay?"

Not-Fred snorted. "Like they'd believe me." Gerard shrugged, serious. Not-Fred rolled his eyes. "Okay, okay. I promise I won't tell."

"Our grandma always used to tell us stories when we were little about vampires and werewolves and all that. We thought they were totally awesome because we were kids and we didn't know better. Anyway, we sort of grew up on it, you know?" Gerard sipped his coffee.

"And?"

"And what?"

"Dude, all kids like vampires. That doesn't explain the part where your brother _kills them_."

Gerard shrugged. "Shit happened."

"You are so not getting my name for that."

"That's kinda personal," Gerard said. Not-Fred looked unmoved. Gerard set his cup down, lightly crushed from the force of his grip, and folded his hands together. "Look, one day, we're sitting in my room, listening to what the fuck ever shitty music we thought was awesome that day, and Grandma's all, 'Get into the basement right now and lock the door,' and we did, but we were idiots, so we tried to listen in on what was happening. I don't know what the fuck we were expecting, maybe a fight between our parents or something, but—" Gerard broke off, disconcerted. "And, after that night, we sort of picked it up, you know?"

Not-Fred stared at him. "What happened in the house?"

"I don't want to talk about it, okay?"

Not-Fred grabbed his wrist. "What—"

The door opened and shut behind Not-Fred, and Gerard watched a familiar figure saunter toward the counter along with someone he had never wanted to see again. " _Shit_ ," Gerard said, ducking down. "My brother's here."

"The one I met?"

Gerard nodded.

"And you don't want him to see you because?"

"He has date-ruining abilities like you wouldn't believe."

* * *

Wentz was fumbling through his pockets for his wallet, not bothering to pretend that he needed to look at the menu. If he didn't have his wallet, Mikey would probably just stake him. Vampires did not get to convince him to let them live and then make him pay for his own coffee. "Did we lose them?"

Mikey attempted to stealthily look over his shoulder, pretending to be saying something to Wentz. "Maybe?"

He heard Wentz order something embarrassingly specific. He elbowed Mikey. "What?"

"What do you want to drink?"

Mikey muttered, "Small cappuccino," at the barista, not taking his eyes off the street outside.

She said chirpily, "Do you mean a tall?"

"Yes. Whatever."

They shuffled down toward the bar to wait for their drinks, Mikey nervously looking over his shoulder. Surprise vampires were the worst kind of vampires. Wentz elbowed him. "Your brother is here with his gentleman friend."

"Fuck."

Wentz shrugged. "He helps you with your work, right?"

"Sort of? Gerard doesn't do—" Mikey gestured expansively, trying to explain how much Gerard was not slayer material, "—combat situations."

Wentz stared. "Seriously? You just, like, hang out with him?"

"I work alone," Mikey said pointedly.

Wentz huffed. Mikey puffed. That was naturally when the vampires chose to blow the house down. The smell hit him first before he heard the door open, the acrid smell like plastic burning. Mikey spun around and heard Wentz start swearing behind him a moment later. There were two of them, a man and a woman, both with rosy-red cheeks from feeding. Shit. He had his gun out and fired a warning shot into a window behind them, but she only hesitated a moment before swarming forward toward them.

Somewhere off to his left, he heard Gerard shout, "Stay out of his way!", at someone. Mikey felt a tug at his belt before he vaulted forward to grapple with the woman who feinted for his neck before trying to knock his legs out from under him. He swore and went for his stake, which _was not there_.

Oh, that fucker.

He glanced over at Wentz who had the male vampire pinned to the ground and was shouting obscenities at him as he tried to successfully stake his heart. Mikey felt a twinge of sympathy: it was always hard to aim for the heart, and Wentz clearly hadn't had a lot of practice. The vampire was shrieking and wailing and trying to throw Wentz off. Mikey looked away.

He shoved his gun into its holster (not actually much good against vampires) and pulled out his long hunting knife, managing to graze the female vampire's clavicle. She jumped back, and he saw her preparing to bolt for the door. "Oh, no, you don't." He chased after her, knocking over a few chairs on his way. It didn't matter; she was going to get away. Behind him, he heard the pop-whoosh of air filling the space where a now-successfully-discorporated vampire had been moments before. "A little help here!"

Wentz, in a moment of either brilliance or pure insanity, threw the stake at the escaping vampire. It knocked her down, although it wasn't sharp enough to leave more than a nasty scrape, and Mikey launched himself onto her, hacking at the tendons of her neck. She screamed, and he paused to stuff garlic into her mouth. Seriously, vampires were so hard to kill these days.

"Beheading? That's so gross, Way."

"Silence in the peanut gallery," Mikey snapped.

"Stake?"

"No," Mikey said, feeling the last of the bone and sinew give out under his determined onslaught. Her eyes stared up balefully at him. He stood up without bothering to shut them. Pete was staring at him. "What?" he said, wiping his bloody palms on the thighs of his jeans.

"You are a cold bitch, Mikeyway."

Mikey shrugged.

* * *

Not-Fred finished his coffee and threw it away in the street-corner trashcan. "You're right. Your brother does have impressive date-ruining abilities."

"Yeah," Gerard said, "and I'm pretty sure we're banned from that Starbucks."

"Well, that's pretty shitty."

"Sorry."

Not-Fred sighed dramatically. "At least, dates with you are never dull."

"I thought that wasn't a date!"

Not-Fred raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? You took me out for coffee, asshole. It wasn't subtle."

"Yeah, _blackmail_ coffee," Gerard grumped.

"Quit sulking." Gerard started crossing the street, leaving not-Fred behind. Gerard heard him jogging to catch up. Not-Fred elbowed him when they reached the opposite corner. "Hey. Hey."

"What?"

Not-Fred grinned, his face lit only by the sodium yellow streetlight above them, and said, "My name is Frank."


End file.
